"
"From him?"
"From him."
"Oh"--Hilda deliberated a moment, nursing her slipper--"Really? Well, we
can't let that happen."
"Why not?"
"You have a hardihood! Is no reason plain to you? Don't you see
anything?"
Alicia smiled again painfully, as if against a tension of her lips. "I
see only one thing that matters--he wants it," she said.
"And won't be happy till he gets it? Rubbish, my dear! We are an
intolerably self-sacrificing sex." Hilda felt around for pillows, and
stretched her length along the bed. "They've taught us well, the men;
it's a blood disease now, running everywhere in the female line. You may
be sure it was a barbarian princess that hesitated between the lady and
the tiger. A civilised one would have introduced the lady and given her
a _dot_, and retired to the nearest convent. Bah! It's a deformity, like
the dachshund's legs."
Alicia looked as if this would be a little troublesome, and not quite
worth while to follow.
"The happiness of his whole life is involved," she said, simply.
"Oh dear yes--the old story! And what about the happiness of yours? Do
you imagine it's laudable, admirable, this attitude? Do you see yourself
in it with pleasure? Have you got a sacred satisfaction of self-praise?"
Contempt accumulated in Miss Howe's voice and sat in her eyes.
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